Devil of Thursday
by lastgenesis
Summary: 6x19 and after spoilers, takes place sometime in the mid-season 6. Crowley waits for Castiel to come back on a Thursday. Crowstiel.


First time in ffnet! Any reviews would be greatly appreciated :) Hope you enjoy!

_Disclaimer_ _: I don't own anything that is ever mentioned below._

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As a former salesman and a current, well, King of Hell, Crowley knew a thing or two about bookkeeping. And if any one of those heavenly shitheads would bother to hear him out, he would testify that the Heaven is running with the most inefficient division of labor. He had a hard proof.

It was Thursday, and he was all by himself tonight. In fact, _every_ Thursday night. Technically, with disassembled body parts from sons of a bitch, but obviously those don't count. So much for the joy of electrocuting a dead brain of Eve. He needed to hear something other than hoarse screams from a skanky vampire tied in chains.

"I'm back."

Yeah, something like that. Crowley managed to wipe the smirk off of his face before he turned around. His angel on parole was back in custody.

"How was your day, my sweet little Angel of Thursday?"

After a long, potentially erotic syndication between them, Castiel finally seemed to have learned to ignore Crowley whenever he wasn't in the mood for back-talking. Crashing on the battered leather couch, the angel closed his eyes without saying a word.

Crowley stared down at him for a few seconds, appreciated the scene, and headed to grab a bottle from his private stash of whiskey. He exactly knew what had to be done. This potentially erotic syndication was long enough, indeed.

"I was just thinking about it, you know, how utterly heartless of you to leave me alone every Thursday night."

Castiel was still speechless and motionless, but only until Crowley handed him a whole bottle of both of their favorite drink.

"...I don't have a heart," the angel blurted out mindlessly after a gulp.

"Yet you still march out to help miserable human beings of the day."

Crowley sat next to Castiel and watched him emptying nearly half of the bottle. He was going to make the Winchesters pay for the expenses someday. The angel really knew how to binge drink, and it wasn't like Crowley could go into any liquor store to get this stuff.

"…I can feel their pain."

Castiel's voice was even lower than usual, as if he could _really_ feel their pain. Crowley could bet all of his share of purgatory's soul on that it is not true. Although it dated quite a while back, he still remembered how it was like to be a human, and there was no way in hell, or heaven, that anything could survive with all the pain the Earth is suffering on a single day. Even for a next-God wannabe.

"What are your brothers doing while you are chasing needy goose, then? Besides the ones who are trying to get a piece of heaven?" asked Crowley, rubbing his chin. Then with a fake naivety, he added, "Oh, right. There isn't any."

"…What is it that you want to say?"

"That you are wasting your friggin' time on crap that no one gives a damn about!"

Crowley didn't mean it. Well, he meant it, but didn't mean to yell. As much as he loathed the angel's head stuck up in his own ass, he cherished it, especially the ass part. Besides, Castiel wouldn't flinch even a bit, as if he was expecting Crowley to bluster out at any moment. That was never fun.

"So you, Castiel, need to concentrate," Crowley snapped, trying in vain to suppress his anger. "I totally understand your need to do empty your angelic bladder, but you need to hold it until this is all over. What part of that is still not clear to you?"

The long silence made the devil somewhat uncomfortable. It reminded him of today – poking on rotting lumps of meat, wondering why the angels had their nonsense day assignments, and feeling, well, lonely. Lonely as hell and he himself didn't even know.

"I…I know."

Slurred murmur from Castiel made Crowley's heart sank. His surprise went clearly unnoticed, however, when Castiel continued on to babble.

"I, uh, there was this, boy. Yes, and he was, so… so sad, so lonely."

Good that he got the angel at least slightly drunk. Castiel wouldn't ever believe it, but Crowley did have a feeling – even though may be only partly working. And the last thing he wanted to share with the angel was his weaknesses. So very good move to sacrifice a bottle of Craig. Better than caught in a moment of sudden fevertion.

"And there was nothing I could really do, I…. I could have, but that would be breaking, tons of laws, and regulations, and provisions, and I, I just, wanted so badly, to save him. That's all I want, Crowley. I just want to save him."

"So here you are."

Quickly regaining his composure, Crowley wondered whether Castiel was on his right mind to lean his head against Crowley's chest. Even for an angel, after the entire bottle without much talking, probably not. Nonetheless, Crowley took the freedom to enjoy the warmth of a living creature after another Thursday of stone-cold solitude.

"You are breaking all the rules there are just by being here, sweetie," Crowley smiled, putting his arms around the feeble angel's head. Honestly, it was nice to feel someone breathing on you. It felt like he was breathing _you_, and Crowley felt sorry for Castiel that the angel would never _really_ feel how this was like.

"Let's just break some more."

So you can save me, Angel of Thursday.


End file.
